


The Dreaming

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Romance, Silmarillion-based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By DargelosThe first meeting of Gil-galad and Elrond, and the emotional upheavals which result.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Ereinion Gil-galad
Kudos: 5
Collections: Least Expected





	The Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Author's Website: [dargelos.populli.net](http://dargelos.populli.net/)  
> Disclaimer: All the usual stuff: No money being made, don't own the characters, no infringement intended. You know the drill.  
> Feedback: That would be great, but don't feel obligated.  
> Story Notes: Hope this is the first of a series, but it does stand alone.

He first glimpsed the Peredhil in the autumn of the twenty-seventh year of the war against Morgoth. He knew the boys were with Maglor, had been there since their childhood, fostered by one of the men who stole them from their parents. But Earendil and Elwing were long gone now from Middle Earth, and the boys, it was said, had come to love Maglor as a father. Gil-galad wondered if he himself could have done such a thing. Then he thought that it was unworthy to pass judgement, and put the thoughts out of his mind. They were young, after all, and Maglor had been good to them by all accounts. 

Noldor-dark, they'd been called, with eyes like storms over the great sea. But Elros was a serious-looking boy of about forty or so, and more solemn than stormy. He greeted Gil-galad with a gracious gesture and fair words. Maglor looked on proudly as if the boy truly was his son. 

"Elros is a scholar," he said, walking with the king through the portico, into the garden, rich with golds and reds and deceptively peaceful. Almost, Gil-galad could forget the war in this small seat of peace. "He will be reckoned among the wise." 

"And his brother?" the king asked. 

Maglor smiled. "They are very alike and very different. "You'll see." He looked upwards, deep into the foliage of an ancient tree. "Elrond, come down and meet our guest." 

Gil-galad looked up into the oak, riotous with autumn colors, and saw, stretched out along a limb like a lazy cat, a boy nearly Elros' twin and only a year or so younger if the king remembered correctly. He was grinning. Gil-galad grinned back. He couldn't help himself, something in his heart seemed to be vibrating like the strings of a harp. 

Elrond swung down out of the tree and dropped softly to the ground. "My lord king," he said with the same gesture of greeting. But it was different, somehow, from the way his brother had delivered it. There was irony in it, as if they would more properly have met high in the branches of the old oak. Gil-galad noticed that his silky black hair was tangled and ragged-looking, and he was dirt-smudged. 

And there were the eyes promised by legend, and full of storms. Meeting them startled the king, and sent a strange shock of pleasure through him. 

"We'll be dining soon," Maglor told Elrond. "Wash yourself." They watched the boy race off for the house, and Maglor said, "They're so different in so many ways and yet they're inseparable." 

"So Elrond is not a scholar?" the king asked with a note of amusement. 

"Not in the way Elros is. He seems to absorb wisdom through his fingertips and hold it in his bones. Elros frets over the getting of it, even though he's as intelligent as his brother, and he frets over the use of it. They both have destinies, I'm certain of it. With a bloodline like theirs..." Maglor paused and frowned. "I don't like to talk about all that," he confessed. "But they are so dear to me..." 

Gil-Galad thought to himself that the boys had been fortunate in their misfortune. 

At supper that night, he watched the boys. Though clearly the more irrepressible of the two, Elrond constantly deferred to his elder brother, and without a trace of resentment. When Elros spoke, Elrond looked proud. 

Elros, for his part, watched the younger boy with real affection. He caught the king watching Elrond, and said, "He has no patience. He tears the snarls out." 

Gil-galad, taken aback, said "What?" 

"His hair," Elros replied, ruffling his brother's ragged black mane. "He comes home tangled up with burrs and bits of leaves from his wanderings and, lacking patience, cuts or tears them out." 

Elrond laughed. "Sometimes Elros combs it for me." 

"He'd have cut it all off by now if I didn't." 

Gil-galad thought that was no more than the truth. Maglor was right, the boys were extraordinary. One bright and balanced, one wild and vivid, they complimented one another. Together they made a formidable alliance; he would not have liked to do battle with the Peredhil. 

Later, he went out into the moonlight to rest and refresh himself, and to gather his thoughts. He'd come here for a reason, to discuss politics with Maglor, but had been sidetracked by meeting the brothers. By meeting one in particular, he admitted to himself as he walked in the grove. His immediate and troubling attraction to the younger boy was something he would have to put aside. 

Unfortunately, it would not happen any time soon, he thought ruefully. Elrond was stretched out on the grass beside a bathing pool with eyes closed and wet, black tendrils of hair clinging to his face. Boyishly slender and lit only by a few small star lamps nearby, he looked almost ghostly. 

Gil-galad nearly turned away, but the boy, sensing him nearby, opened his eyes and smiled. He'd been asleep, Gil-galad could tell by the slightly unfocused look in his eyes. 

"Hello." Elrond sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

Fascinated, the king approached. He sat down on the grass nearby and asked, "Am I right? Were you asleep?" 

Elrond nodded. 

"Why?" 

"My parents slept. My father, being mortal, needed to, and my mother would often sleep with him." He smiled. "They often said that there was something quite wonderful about sleeping beside someone you love." 

Gil-galad was perplexed. "I'm not sure I understand. What could be pleasant about being unconscious?" 

Elrond tipped his head and regarded the king with a gently amused expression. "So you've never tried it?" 

"No. Not since infancy." 

"I like the dreams; they're different from the waking dreams of our people. But sleeping is a kind of physical pleasure for me. For Elros, too." 

The king was curious now. He had always dismissed sleep as an infant's rest or a mortal weakness. "Will you teach me?" 

"To sleep? Of course, if you wish it." 

"How do we start?" 

"Here and now?" Elrond grinned at the king. "You're sure?" 

"Yes." 

"Then lie down and make yourself comfortable." 

After a little turning and shifting, Gil-galad finally found a position that seemed reasonably comfortable. 

"I won't always work." Elrond warned. If you're not prepared to sleep, you won't. It's not something you can do at will, really." 

"No?" Gil-galad was suppressing a smile. Elrond had suddenly become so serious; he seemed more like his brother. 

"Now close your eyes." Gil-galad complied, focusing now on the dark tenor voice that led him into the shadows. "In your mind you see yourself lying here. You feel the ground under your body grow softer and softer, as if it was cradling you. Soft. Warm. The fall of the water into the pool is like a song. It soothes you, makes you peaceful. You are drifting on the softness, on the warmth, on the soft singing of the water." 

He continued on patiently, and Gil-galad let him, even though he was certain it would not work. He didn't feel anything in particular except the delightful comfort of the ground beneath him. Nothing he hadn't felt a thousand times, though he had to admit that this was extraordinarily soft ground. Perhaps some sort of grass or wild plant cushioning him there. He would have to look in a moment, in just a moment when the singing stopped and the warm lassitude left his body. But there...it wasn't only the singing of the water, but Elrond whisper-singing in his darkly beautiful voice. Maglor had taught him well, there was a restful cadence to the song, and a caressing quality that was delicious. In just a moment or two he would open his eyes. In just a bit, when the lids weren't quite so heavy, so hard to lift. In just a moment... 

He opened his eyes and stared up into the star-pocked sky. Why was the moon so high? he wondered. And who was that lying beside him? He turned his head to see the curve of Elrond's cheek and the sharp jut of his bare shoulder. Elrond was asleep on Gil-galad's outstretched arm, and strangely, the king felt no urge to wake him, understanding suddenly, on a visceral level the truth of what Elrond had told him. It was quite wonderful to sleep beside someone. And then he realized that he had been asleep, too, and in that time the air had cooled and the moon had risen well into the sky. He laughed and roused Elrond. 

"You were asleep," the boy said. "I watched you for a while before I lay down." 

"Yes." 

"Did you like it?" 

Gil-galad considered. "I don't know. I didn't dislike it. But I didn't dream." 

"That will come in time." 

"Oh, I'm going to do it again?" he asked playfully. 

"Of course you are." Elrond sat up and a moment later, slithered into the bathing pool. Gil-galad watched the boy's slivery form move in the water, under the surface, like a fish. 

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, when Elrond climbed back out of the pool and shook himself like a dog. 

"Water's warm. The waterfall is fed by a hot spring a little way upstream. By the time it reaches the pool, it's still warm enough to be good bathing through autumn." He shrugged on a heavy velvet robe and fastened it with shaking fingers. "But the air is cold now. Time to go indoors." 

Gil-galad reached out and took the boy's slim hands between his own sword-callused ones, rubbing warmth into them. He raised his gaze to meet Elrond's. There was a shock of recognition between them, an admission of something understood and desired in those almond-shaped, gray-blue eyes. Elrond's hands came to rest on the king's chest, and his mouth opened as Gil-galad took it in a tentative kiss. 

The king was breathless when the kiss broke, heart pounding. He put his hand on Elrond's shoulder. "This is madness," he murmured and the boy smiled. 

"I'm promised to no one, my lord. It harms none." He laughed. He had a husky laugh. "I'm warm again," he said. 

Gil-galad took the boy's face between his hands. "Understand, this is something I would pursue if I could. But your age, and the responsibilities I owe my people, especially in such times, put this beyond the possible. 

Elrond looked away, clearly hurt. "I understand," he lied. Well, he would come to understand. That was the way of the world. 

Elrond backed away and made a little bow. "If you will excuse me, I am quite cold, my lord." 

"Of course." He watched Elrond walk away and realized that he was cold, too, though inside. 

He did not see the boy again during his time at Maglor's home. It was a neat disappearing trick, but Gil-galad was certain that, as he rode away, someone was watching. 

* * *

It was a more than a decade before he saw the Peredhil again. He was mustering forces for the final battles of this war, now more than thirty years on. There was a weight of responsibility on him that grew year-by-year until it had become almost unbearably heavy. He knew, in his heart, that the final battle was coming, the one that would decide the fate of Middle Earth, and was almost sick with apprehension. Their force was strong, and he worked to make it stronger still, but the strength of their enemy was terrible. 

Troops were moving towards the towers of Thangorodrim. The host of the Valar were coming from out of the west and, with the alliance of men and elves, made a force so great as had never been seen on Middle Earth before. Perhaps all he did was for his own sake, to ease the restlessness of his mind. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about. And perhaps he did it because if he sat still and waited for engagement, he might have to think about what the world would be like if they failed. 

Weary beyond anything he could remember, he turned back towards his own camp at the center of the elvish forces. He came upon Elros wholly by chance, camped with a phalanx of archers near a brook that ran surprisingly clear. In a ruined landscape, elves would always find a spot of green, or at the very least, running water. Elros sat beside it, as did others, gazing into the moving water. 

"Elros." 

The dark head rose slowly, but when Elros saw Gil-galad he smiled. "My lord king." He stood and would have made a bow, but Gil-galad would not permit it. "We are all soldiers now, united against a common enemy. Greet me as a friend." And they embraced as friends. "You've changed," the king said, taking in the more solidly capable frame and fine, strong features. 

"It has been a few years since I reached my majority." 

"And your brother?" He was curious, of course, but had long ago thrown off the ill-conceived desire he'd felt for Elrond. 

"He has passed that milestone too, my lord, and he is well. A much better soldier than I am," he confessed with a rueful smile. 

"I would guess rather that you two are well-matched. And Maglor? It has been too long since he and I spoke." 

"He has been well, though this war drains his spirit, I think. He is pursued by his own demons." 

"And the love between you all remains strong?" Truly, he was curious about this strange bond between the Peredhil and their former captor and foster father. 

"As always, my lord." They began to walk together. "His love for us and ours for him lies outside the terrible history of our families." 

"That is well," Gil-galad said, not quite understanding, but accepting nonetheless. 

Elrond was shooting when they came upon him. Shirtless, drawing the bow slowly and deliberately so that every muscle in his arms and back was taut. His sleek back was tattooed with a sinuous vine which had its root at the nape of his neck, under the thick braid of his black hair. One stem swept over his shoulder and down almost to his elbow. Another disappeared beneath his waistband and the sight made Gil-galad tremble. Still slender and graceful, Elrond had become an adult in the years that had passed, and this new, soldier's body brought back many of the old desires, to Gil-galad's chagin. 

Elrond released the arrow and it flew true, striking the target squarely. 

"He could have hit it in the dark, with his eyes closed from twice that distance," Elros said with pride. "Elrond! Come and greet our king." 

Elrond turned, and emotion crossed his face like storms crossing an open plain. Happiness, anger, and finally guarded respect transformed his mobile features in moments. He made his greeting, but did not draw near. Gil-galad missed the old, easy smile. "My lord. It has been too long," he said in a voice that had darkened to a velvety baritone with adulthood. The words were formulaic, but with a bite to them that found the target as surely as had Elrond's arrow. 

"Indeed. I had not thought this war would become our lives for so many years." He thought he saw a softening in the stormy eyes, but perhaps it was just his wish to see some sign that Elrond did not still bear the hurt Gil-galad had delivered so many years earlier. Or perhaps a sign that his desire was still reciprocated? He shook off that thought as unworthy. "I hope," he said wearily, "that there will come a time when we may all sit and talk about better times." 

"We wish the same, my lord. We're with you to the end," Elros told him. 

Suddenly, his reserve of energy deserted him. "I must rest," he said regretfully, "or I won't be any good to any of you. My camp is nearby; if there's anything you need, if you speak with Maglor..." his voice trailed off. How long had it been since he'd rested? 

"My lord, do you ever sleep?" Elrond asked with a shadow of his beautiful smile. 

Gil-galad smiled in return. "Never these days. The dreams are not..." he sought the right word. "They are not restful." 

Both Peredhil nodded as if they understood too well. 

Once in his own tent, he removed his armor and washed his face and hands. The rest would wait. He took up his favorite object of meditation - a river stone, striated in black, gray, tan and cream. It fit perfectly in his hand, and the smooth, cool feel of it was reassuring. He stared down at the banding, seeing in it the passage of time, and the truth of life; few things were as simple as they might seem; there were always layers of meaning, many truths blended into one reality. He let himself follow the swirling patterns, relaxing into them as he sloughed off his weariness. 

Much later, after he'd eaten, he was washing himself when the guard outside his tent said, "My lord, may I enter?" 

"Yes." 

The soldier stepped in and closed the tent-flap behind himself. "Elrond Peredhil would speak with you. He does not state his business. Will you permit it?" 

"Yes, of course. The Peredhil are always welcome." He threw on a robe. 

"Elrond. Welcome." 

"My lord king," he said, making his obeisance. "I've brought you a gift, a dream." 

Gil-galad frowned. "A dream?" 

"A sleeping dream, my lord. I have found much truth in them." 

The king gestured for Elrond to sit, and sat opposite him. "Continue." 

Elrond took a deep breath. "I don't know if this will come to pass," he cautioned. "But in my dream, the fate of our world was decided in the sky in the last hours of the war." 

"What?" 

"I've seen a great battle in the air. A dragon, the lords of the air, and my father all engaging to decide the fate of Middle Earth." 

"And are we victorious?" 

"I believe so, for I have seen the ruin of Thangorodrim." 

It was as if a breath he'd held for far too long had suddenly been released. He sagged in his chair and covered his eyes with his hand, feeling them well with tears of relief. "Even if it should not come to pass," he said, taking a few deep, steadying breaths, "you've offered me a hope by reminding me that there is power to be reckoned with on our side." 

Elrond gently but insistently pulled the king's hand from his face. Long fingers wiped tears from his cheeks. Gil-galad captured Elrond's hand and kissed the palm. "I have never forgotten you," he whispered. "Nor ceased to regret the necessity that drove me from you. I'm sorry." 

"You were forgiven long ago," Elrond assured him. "I understand responsibility better now." His eyes searched Gil-galad's face. "And I'm no longer a child." 

The king pressed his face against Elrond's palm. "Are you saying that the desire I feel is still reciprocated?" he asked quietly. 

"I'm saying that I'm here to give you whatever you need. Love, or simple comfort on the eve of a battle; it doesn't matter. You would do me honor, my king." 

Gil-galad looked up and smiled. The storm-gray eyes were clear and bright. "I'm the one who is honored." 

Elrond was even more fascinating now than he had been as a boy. His smile was more mysterious, his emotions less visible now, but his intent was firmer, clearer. He drew Gil-galad from his chair and unfastened the king's robe. His slender hands moved over Gil-galad's body restlessly, learning the planes of bone and muscle, tracing scars left from near-mortal wounds. He kissed each one while Gil-galad unbraided Elrond's hair. 

"I prefer it loose," he explained. 

"It's kept me from tearing out great hunks," Elrond replied with a mischievous grin. He began to undress himself as Gil-galad went to the tent opening and told the guards that they were not to be disturbed until dawn. 

"Now everyone will know," the king said with mock solemnity. Then he sobered. "Do you mind?" 

Elrond lay down on the king's bed. "Would I be here if I minded being known as your lover?" 

Gil-galad lay beside him, touching Elrond for the first time with all the passion he had felt from the moment he first saw him so many years earlier. "No, you don't hide from anyone, do you?" 

"Never." 

"You are a dangerous man," the king observed before they stopped talking all together. 

Through many dark times, the memory of the strange, wild boy had given Gil-galad both solace and hope. To connect so immediately, so intensely was a pleasure undeniable, and though the facts of their lives had kept them from consummating that connection, it had remained. Gil-galad knew it in the marrow of his bones even if he could not speak of it, even to those closest to him, nor admit it to himself for fear of his heart breaking. He had loved the boy, and that love had endured and grown to settle on the man like a mantle. They had been well and truly mated at that moment, near the bathing pool, when they kissed once only, and parted. 

The consummation, so long delayed, was nevertheless slow and tender, full of every bit of love they could express. This might be the only time they would ever come together; this might be their last night on earth. Things had to be said with hearts, souls and bodies. 

Sometime before dawn, they fell asleep holding one another. For the first time in years Gil-galad did not fear sleep, or the dreams it would bring. He was safe. He was home. 

-End-


End file.
